Playing with classics has become part of the theatrical landscape. One can either go for staging, say, Shakespeare or Moliere or Sophocles in an alternate time period or social reference, or one can take the conceptual theme of the original, and the main characters, and turn the play on its ear.

For example, several years ago The Theatre at Boston Court produced Chekhov’s “The Cherry Orchard” reset (with distinct cultural adaptation) in a China on the verge of revolution — a shift that worked startlingly well.

Now, once again at The Theatre at Boston Court, this time in concert with Circle X Theatre Company, one finds a revision of another Chekhov classic, “The Seagull.”

“Sort of adapted” by Aaron Posner, the play “Stupid F**king Bird” highlight’s Chekhov’s essential ethos — the idea that people who become so wrapped up in themselves create their own tragedies — and places it in a modern framework.

It works remarkably well for several reasons: Chekhov’s theme was an essential human one that transcends time; the adaptation is clever, concise and passionate; and the direction and performance are done with complete conviction and absolute craft.

The script trims down and adapts the character list, but the story is still the traditional angsty knot.

Conrad, the bitter son of actress Emma Arkadina, is a creator of dubious performance art his family belittles. He lives on his mother’s estate, working with and worshiping a young actress named Nina, who does not return his affections, while the woman who runs the house, Mash, holds her grand passion for Conrad close to her despairing heart.

Dev, the slightly dim, good-hearted friend of Conrad, adores Mash but knows he has little chance there. Emma fears encroaching age, and fights it off by keeping famed author Doyle Trigorin on a short leash, at least until he notices Nina. All the while, aging uncle Dr. Sorn, watches with a combination of kindness and frustration. And so it begins.

If all of this sounds like a soap opera, you are correct, except for the essential Chekhovian concept that all of this internal wrangling, despair and high feeling is elementally ridiculous — a product of each of the characters’ emotional myopia.

In the hands of director Michael Michetti, that rings through all the drama, as it plays out in a tight production with a strong and engaging cast. Add to this the extra thrill of Posner’s Thornton Wilder-style dissolving of the fourth wall, including actors stepping into and out of character, and you’re looking at something compelling and genuinely fun.

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Will Bradley leads the cast in every way as Conrad, vibrating with intensity and a kind of emotional impotence. In both energy and engagingly dark approach, he is matched by Charlotte Gulezian’s habitually depressed Mash. Adam Silver creates Mash’s and Conrad’s ultimate foil in the easygoing, upbeat, pleasantly dim Dev. Amy Pietz gives Emma a gentle undercurrent of desperation and a grasping need that proves visceral.

Matthew Floyd Miller’s calm, detached, even opportunistic Doyle becomes physically and emotionally above all the petty commitments at his feet, while Zarah Mahler’s aura of fragility places Nina distinctly in both Doyle’s and Conrad’s cross hairs. Arye Gross gives the good doctor the air of a man weighed down by his own desire to be empathetic to these folk, like a huge, human sigh.

Under Michetti, this all moves quite rapidly, allowing no time for the dismalness to settle, and shifting in and out of the play’s supposed setting with the efficiency of a light switch.

Stephanie Kerley Schwartz’s modular set pieces prove both realistic and representational, allowing for quick shifts in scene and mood. Sean Cawelti’s projections often provide that mood and flesh out settings artfully.

In short, “Stupid F**king Bird” brings the essential Chekhovian message to a new era, a new language, and a new immediacy without losing those elements that give it something to say about the human condition: finely tuned characters wrestling with stunted emotions doing melodramatic things that get them nowhere, held up to a mirror that makes them look somewhat silly.

Thus it proves both wrenching and humorous, visceral and cerebral.

If you love to watch people play with classic themes, you’ll find this one engrossing.

One word of warning: as the name may suggest, this show is not for children, deserving at least an “R” rating on the standard scale for both language and nudity. Still, for adults willing to take that as integral to context, it is most certainly a show to see.

For more of Frances Baum Nicholson’s reviews, go to www.stagestruckreview.com.